


my love for you looks different

by fliptomybside



Series: you can hear it in the silence [1]
Category: Dunkirk (2017) RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 15:41:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11970453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fliptomybside/pseuds/fliptomybside
Summary: Fionn's at university. Harry's on tour. They both want things.





	my love for you looks different

**Author's Note:**

> SORRY ABOUT THIS, it was written as a note on my phone, then [Em](http://fullstopmgnt.tumblr.com) added the best parts to it and killed me dead, and here it is. Go yell at her. This is part of uni!verse Fionnry but takes place in the middle of it so I hope it's not confusing. Title from MUNA's If U Love Me Now, unbeta-ed so all mistakes are mine, please don't let the real people that this is about see it, etc. etc.

The lecture halls are always freezing. Fionn knows this painfully well by now, but he always forgets an extra jumper when he’s in a rush. It doesn’t help that most of his wardrobe is mostly too expensive designer tops that Harry decided would fit Fionn better, at this point. He can’t like, wear them out in real life, it’s weird. It feels intimate in a way Fionn can’t put his finger on, like people will know he’s got Harry Styles in his bed more often than not. 

Fionn shakes his head, wincing at the way his neck cracks. The professor’s droning on and Fionn can’t remember what unit they’re on for the life of him. He’s not sure why he thought taking pre-renaissance art history was a good move, but the thought crosses his mind whenever he’s stuck in a huge hall, surrounded half by people who are dead asleep, half by people who are enraptured by cave paintings.

Fionn’s got one line of notes to show for thirty minutes of class, but he can’t bring himself to care, not really. The girl next to him’s asleep, head resting on the desk, hair spilling out over the surface. He’s tired enough that it looks comfortable. 

His phone buzzes in his lap and makes him jump.

It’s Harry, naturally. Fionn’s got him in his phone as just H, and even that feels like something small and secret, just for him. 

Fionn can’t quite remember where he is, somewhere in America, though, so theoretically he should be asleep.

Harry’s sent him a picture of his dick, Fionn realizes, blinking down at the smudged screen of his phone. Like, actually a picture of his dick, Fionn would know it anywhere. He must be in bed, and it’s clear that he’s totally naked, the dark edges of his stupid thigh tattoo just visible, along with the faint remains of the bruise Fionn sucked on his hip the day before he left for tour. 

Harry’s dick’s like--right there. It’s not like Fionn’s never gotten a dirty picture before, but everything with Harry feels heightened, and this isn’t any different. Fionn can’t stop looking at it, even though he’s in the middle of a lecture. Harry’s long fingers are wrapped around it, his cross tattoo in obvious juxtaposition to what he’s doing. He’s really fucking hard, red at the tip and leaking, and it makes Fionn shift uncomfortably in his seat.

He locks his phone and takes a shaky breath. Squeezes his eyes shut and digs his fingernails into his palms and wills himself not to get hard in public. 

Fuck. _Fuck_ , he’s got to get out of here. 

He tries to shove his notebook away quietly, doesn’t want to get anyone’s attention, and thank god he always sits in the aisle seat, as it’s awkward leaving halfway through as it is. 

Fionn trips on his way out, his legs clumsy and slow, and he can feel the flush on his cheeks when he makes it out and into the hallway. He pauses for a second, lets himself lean against the wall. His phone’s burning a hole in his pocket, and he’s well on his way to hard at barely ten o’clock in the morning, with Harry an entire ocean away, getting himself off and making sure Fionn knows about it. 

He’s not sure how long he stands there, just focusing on the sound of his own breathing and trying to recover before he gives up and heads for the toilet. 

It’s blessedly empty, and Fionn locks himself in a stall, feels the way his heartbeat starts to kick up again. He presses his cheek against the cool metal of the door and doesn’t think about how he’s going to have to take a decontamination shower after this. 

He’s here for a reason, though, he thinks, cheeks burning, and he sits on the toilet and carefully unzips his trousers. He’s hard in his pants despite his best efforts, straining at the fabric, and he hisses when he finally wraps his hand around his prick. 

Fionn doesn’t think he’s ever gotten this hard this fast, and he never imagined getting himself off like this, at uni in a gross public bathroom stall to the thought of Harry Styles’ dick, of all things. 

But Harry just--crashed into his life like it was his right, and now Fionn’s here, staring down at a photo of Harry’s hard cock on his phone and gripping his own, getting embarrassingly closer with every second. 

He has to put down the phone eventually, because it’s too much, he’s right on the edge of it, even stuck in what must be the grossest toilet in the building, the smell of piss filling his nose. He balances it on his knee and lets the screen fade to black, remembers how Harry kissed over his entire body before he left, pulled Fionn into his lap and slipped inside him and bit down on the side of his neck and how Fionn’d never felt anything that good in his life. 

He digs his fingernails into his thigh where there’s the ghost of a bruise in the shape of Harry’s mouth under the fabric of his trousers, and he opens his eyes at the last second, watches the slick drip down his fist, and he’s just in time to see Harry’s name flash across the screen, and fuck, that’s what does it for him, the idea that maybe Harry’s clocked what Fionn’s doing with this photo. 

Fionn’s phone clatters to the floor when his knee jerks as he comes, breathless and all over his fist, but he can’t bring himself to care, just lets it ring while he rides out the aftershocks, cupping his hand over the head of his dick to catch the last of his come. 

Harry’s calling him again by the time he comes back to himself, hand still covered and thighs still trembling. He hastily wipes himself down with some toilet paper before he answers.

“Hiii,” Harry says, voice raspy, and Fionn’s dick gives a valiant twitch, because Fionn knows what Harry sounds like when he’s fucked out, and this is it, and Fionn wants.

“Hey,” he says, and his voice sounds strangled to his own ears. 

He starts to come back to himself, realizes what he just did, and he mentally thanks whatever deity there is that the toilet’s still blessedly empty.

“Sooo,” Harry says voice still low and gravelly and weirdly hesitant, “about what I sent--”

And for a split second, Fionn’s irrationally worried that Harry sent it to the wrong person. That it wasn’t meant for him at all, that he just got off to Harry getting off to someone else, and the thought of it turns his stomach. 

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, I just got like. I missed you? It was a heat of the moment thing, you know how it is.”

And Fionn doesn’t, not really. He’s never--never been in something like this. Where he misses the other person when they’re not with him. It’s not like he’s never been in a relationship, but this is different. It colors everything, and Fionn’s constantly shaking his head, trying to clear it unsuccessfully.

His heart rate slows and he can feel the relief flooding his body, lets his mind go back to the picture and how it’s something he can hold on to, tuck away for whenever he needs it. 

“It didn’t make me uncomfortable,” Fionn starts, shifting on the toilet. His dick’s still out and it’s a it weird, maybe, but he still feels wrung out and languid from coming so hard. “It, uh, did the opposite? Actually?”

Harry barks out a laugh, loud enough that Fionn has to pull his the phone back from his ear for a second. 

“Did you like it, then?”

Fionn can feel his ears burning, but he grins anyway, even though no one can see him. 

“It was all right,” he says, adjusting himself. 

“Got yourself off, didn’t you,” Harry says, voice low and impossibly slow. “Where were you?”

Fionn huffs a laugh. 

“Like you didn’t know, you shit, I was in the middle of lecture. Had to split halfway through the cave paintings, ‘m still in the toilet down the hall.”

“Should’ve documented it for me, ‘s only fair,” Harry says, voice scratchy and rough, the way it gets when he’s balls deep inside Fionn.

“Jesus, Harry.”

Fionn sucks in a harsh breath and pointedly doesn’t touch himself. He can hear Harry down the line, breathy little sighs, like he’s--

“Harry.”

Harry groans, long and low before he answers.

“Yeah?”

“Are you. What’re you doing?”

“We’re in a long distance relationship, Fionn, what do you think I’m doing,” Harry says breathlessly, and Fionn tells himself he’s imagining the sounds of Harry touching himself, the slick slide of skin on skin.

Fionn’s a bit fucked, he realizes, because the thought of Harry just--saying it, that they’re like. Together. That does it for him, makes him reach down and take his cock in hand again. 

It’s not like they hadn’t talked about it, but Fionn’s good at brushing that kind of thing off, doesn’t care to get bogged down in the details. Harry bringing it up is just. A lot, Fionn things, tugging himself through the oversensitivity and sighing into the phone when he gets a good rhythm going. 

“Love listening to you,” Harry stutters out, and yeah, fuck, Fionn can hear him. 

Harry must have his phone on speaker so he can touch himself more easily, because he sounds far away, like he’s got it balanced on his chest, and Fionn can hear him jerking himself off, and all of this is obscene, how Fionn’s racing toward his second orgasm in fifteen minutes, in a public bathroom with Harry breathing down the line from thousands of miles away. 

“I’ve,” Fionn starts, and he has to pause, biting down on his lower lip and twisting his grip on the upstroke. “I’ve never actually done this before,” he finishes, and Harry moans immediately.

The sound goes straight to Fionn’s dick, and he speeds up, leans into the pleasure pain of overstimulation.  
“You can’t just,” Harry pants, and Fionn can hear his hand moving faster, “say things like that, christ.”

Fionn laughs and slows for a second, then freezes when he hears someone bang into the toilet.

“Fuck,” he whispers harshly, and his hand stills.

“Did someone just come in,” Harry slurs, and he doesn’t even wait for Fionn to answer before he continues. 

“Touch yourself,” he says, and Fionn can tell he’s about to come. 

He wants to tell him to shut up. Wants to hang up the phone and get the fuck out of here, but he can hear Harry moaning and he starts moving again, slowly, praying that the bloke will be in and out. 

“Can’t stop thinking about you,” Harry whispers, “touching you. Being inside you, fuck, Fionn, I wish you could see your face.”

Fionn’s whole body is on edge, his ears straining to hear Harry’s breathy groans, the way he’s started mumbling about how tight Fionn always feels around his cock, and the idiot who’s idling away at the sink, just on the other side of the door. 

He can’t hold off, not with the way Harry’s groans start to catch in his throat, and the “c’mon, Fionn, ‘m gonna come,” that slips out, and Fionn moans lowly, too loudly, but he can’t bring himself to care about whoever’s out there anymore. Everything’s too much, it’s too soon after he’s come, but it’s so good, the sound of Harry half laughing, half moaning in Fionn’s ear as he comes, the sounds of his hand on his dick slowing. 

Fionn feels hot, sweat starting to bead along his hairline, his hand speeding up, wincing and leaning into it all at once, and then he comes like it’s being pulled out of him, groaning into the phone, Harry humming low in response. 

Fionn’s got come on his trousers now, and his dick’s still in his hand, and he should be embarrassed, but he doesn’t have enough functioning brain cells to process any of it fully, just tips to the side and sags against the wall.

He can hear Harry breathing down the line, and his phone’s sweaty in his hand, but Fionn can’t make himself move.

“‘S nice, isn’t it? Like, proper phone sex,” Harry says softly. “I like hearing you.”

Fionn feels like he’s floating. Not in like, a romantic way, just--softly detached from everything. The grossness of the toilet and lecture and all the work he has to do seem far away. Inconsequential, really, when he’s still buzzing from how hard he just came. 

“Mmm,” he hums into the phone after a minute. 

“Love you,” Harry says, his voice quiet. 

It feels painfully intimate, even though Fionn’s essentially in public and he’s just gotten himself off twice in the span of fifteen minutes. 

“Yeah,” he says, voice cracking, “you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [here](http://polaroidgirlfriend.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
